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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30040365">Everyone Pulls Away From You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilbruh/pseuds/wilbruh'>wilbruh</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>broken pieces of a shattered frame. [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>:(, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Angst, Blood, Character Death, Drug Abuse, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kinda, Overdosing, Suicide Attempt, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, anyway here we go boys, fuck i missed a tag, its there for a second, please be careful while reading this, someone change that, this is not going to be for the light of heart im not ngl, what the fuck, why is his name his tag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:35:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,394</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30040365</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilbruh/pseuds/wilbruh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It was quiet, Tommy thought. That was certainly strange. It was almost never quiet in the Watson household, not even at night, with Techno always up doing something and Wilbur’s music always floating down the hall no matter the time of day. So why now was it so quiet?</p><p>Well no, that was a lie. He could hear shuffling in Wilbur’s room on the other side of the wall, since it was practically silent now save for the clock ticking in the hallway. Man, Tommy fucking hated that clock. Shit wait that was not what he needed to focus on.</p><p>What he should be focusing on, was the crying going on in the bedroom next door.</p><p>Was Tommy really about to do this? Was he really going over to see what was wrong with his foster brother? Maybe he got dumped, or maybe something was just not going right. It wasn’t serious. Right?</p><p>.</p><p>Or, four times Tommy brushes off the red flags blaring in his face and the one time he is too late.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>broken pieces of a shattered frame. [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211837</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>445</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Completed stories I've read, The Deep Sad Down In The Dumps Depression Days of Despair Fics, Will's TWB Challenge Collection, best smp stories</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Everyone Pulls Away From You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/diapason/gifts">diapason</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollyPollyKinz/gifts">MollyPollyKinz</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>PLEASE READ TAGS FOR TRIGGER WARNINGS. PLEASE. </p><p>this was written for a challenge against ms molly (mollypollykinz whos fic ill link once she posts it)</p><p>we got one prompt and two different genres. i got angst of course. </p><p>enjoy! be safe out there!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1.</p><p> </p><p>It was quiet, Tommy thought. That was certainly strange. It was almost never quiet in the Watson household, not even at night, with Techno always up doing <em> something </em>and Wilbur’s music always floating down the hall no matter the time of day. So why now was it so quiet?</p><p> </p><p>Well no, that was a lie. He could hear shuffling in Wilbur’s room on the other side of the wall, since it was practically silent now save for the clock ticking in the hallway. Man, Tommy fucking hated that clock. Shit wait that was not what he needed to focus on.</p><p> </p><p>What he should be focusing on, was the <em> crying </em> going on in the bedroom next door.</p><p> </p><p>Was Tommy really about to do this? Was he really going over to see what was wrong with his foster brother? Maybe he got dumped, or maybe something was just not going right. It wasn’t serious. Right?</p><p> </p><p>Fuck, he really was doing this, wasn’t he. Tommy was really going to get up and go check on the asshole who probably didn’t like him just because he was crying next door, wasn’t he?</p><p> </p><p>With a frustrated groan at his own self morals, he pushed himself off the covers and shuffled off the bed. He hit his foot on the metal frame and cursed, rather loudly. He sucked in a deep breath at the noise he made, wondering if Wilbur had heard him. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.</p><p> </p><p>He paused, waiting for any noise.  Wilbur’s faint sobs didn’t seem any quieter, so he hadn’t fucked up his plan of slowly opening Wilbur’s door to check on him. Because that was all this was. Checking on WIlbur to make sure he wasn’t dying. It’s not like Tommy actually cared about the dickheads in the house, it was only temporary after all.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy crept out into the hallway, making sure to avoid the spot that he knew creaked. He had, after all, been spending almost every night since he got to this stupid house stealing coins, one dollar bills, and snacks to store in his bag under his bed. He had to be prepared somehow. </p><p> </p><p>Luckily, his many skills acquainted with being in the foster system for so long were perfect for the mission at hand. Go to Wilbur’s door, make sure he is ok, and then come back without anyone knowing.</p><p> </p><p>He came to a stop at the door, and carefully pushed down on the handle. Gods, he was really doing this wasn’t he? Tommy hoped that Wilbur wouldn’t yell at him and cause the others to wake up. He didn’t hear anything from Techno so he was assuming the other teen was peacefully asleep in his bed for once. He hoped.</p><p> </p><p>The door creaked open and Tommy winced as the noise seemed to echo off the walls of the hallway. Fuck. Wilbur sniffled and moved in his bed, sitting up. Fuck. <em> Fuck. </em>There goes going in and out without being seen. Fuck, here goes nothing.</p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur?” He called out, softly. He cringed at his own voice, but he kept going anyway. “Are you ok in there?”</p><p> </p><p>“Piss off, Tommy. I’m fine.” Wilbur’s voice was scratchy and strained. How long was he crying for?</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t sound fine.” Tommy retorted, slowly creeping into the room a bit more. Wilbur clearly didn’t like that.</p><p> </p><p>“Get out of my room, Tommy.” Wilbur hissed, chucking a pillow at the boy’s head. He huffed and flopped back down, pulling his blanket over his head. </p><p> </p><p>Well damn, there was that. Guess Wilbur was fine then.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy slowly shut the door, not daring to move or even breathe until he was sure no one was bothered by the audible click. Whatever, if he wanted to be a dick about it, so be it.</p><p> </p><p>2.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Wilbur, do you mind if I borrow your extra set of headphones?” Tommy yelled, practically bursting into the others room. Wilbur had been yelling at him less and less for it lately, and Tommy couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not. “I lost mine-”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was sitting on his bed, curled into the corner with his hands over his ears. He did not look like he was doing alright. Fuck. Was it Tommy? Was he too loud?</p><p> </p><p>It took all of his self control not to shrink away and leave. He could not show them that he was scared of being here. Tommy had to keep his self control, had to show them that he belonged here. Even if it was weaseling himself into their rooms even though they don’t like it.</p><p> </p><p>Even it meant helping his older foster brother from a panic attack. Because Wilbur seemed to be having one of those. Fuck. What was Tommy meant to do in the event of a panic attack?</p><p> </p><p>He had them sometimes, not that he would ever show anyone, he was a big man. He could handle himself.</p><p> </p><p>And since he had them sometimes, surely he knew how to help Wilbur in this situation, didn’t he? He knew that it was often overwhelming, the feeling that you were drowning in all your emotions at once, or drowning in the numbness and absence of everything. It was an awful feeling, and really, no matter how much of a dickhead Wilbur was, he didn’t <em> really </em>want the older teen to feel that way.</p><p> </p><p>So, again, he had to curse his morals and help Wilbur. Or he would feel bad, and really, Tommy didn’t need any more guilt in his life.</p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur?” He asked. Judging by how Wilbur’s hands shot from his head and he straightened up, he heard. He definitely heard. </p><p> </p><p>“Go away.” Wilbur rasped. He raised his head to glare at Tommy, but he couldn’t make eye contact, so it was not at all effective. Tommy didn’t bother to point that out. </p><p> </p><p>Wasn’t this familiar? Weren’t they in a similar situation like a week ago? </p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure?” Tommy didn’t miss the way Wilbur’s breathing quickened, or the way his whole body shook, his lanky limbs curled in a way to make him seem as small as possible. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes. <em> Please. </em>” Wilbur’s voice cracked. Tommy couldn’t argue with him, not really. He had a fair share of bad days himself.  If Wilbur wanted to come down from his panic alone, then Tommy had to grant his wishes. Being smothered when panicking never ended well for Tommy, so surely it was the same for Wilbur. </p><p> </p><p>Respecting Wilbur’s wishes didn’t mean he didn’t feel awful as he shut the door as quietly as possible in order to not disturb Wilbur any farther. It didn’t mean that he didn’t sit against the door, listening to Wilbur’s muffled sobs and muttering, in order to glare at Phil or Techno when they tried to come get the two for dinner in order to send them away.</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t mean that he didn’t stop caring. (Not that Wilbur knew that.)</p><p> </p><p>3.</p><p> </p><p>They were doing homework on the couch, eating leftover chinese from the other night. Phil had taken Techno off to some practice, maybe it was for his violin? Tommy wasn’t paying attention. What mattered was that it was just Wilbur and Tommy alone for the night. Which, if he was being honest, he was glad for. He had been getting closer to Wilbur lately, glad that he wasn’t alone in feeling lonely. </p><p> </p><p>Because let’s face it, Wilbur and Tommy were often left to their own devices. And it sucked.</p><p> </p><p>So, they had come up with a routine. Every night that Phil and Techno had to go run off to one of Techno’s many after school activities, be it violin practice or fencing, Wilbur and Tommy would either order take-out or eat whatever leftovers were in the fridge and do their homework together in the living room.</p><p> </p><p>Tonight was no exception.</p><p> </p><p>“Can you please stop tapping your pencil?” Wilbur snapped. It had no heat in it though, he never seemed angry much anymore. Just tired. “It’s irritating.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy scowled, and didn’t stop. “You aren't the boss of me, bitch boy.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur grinned, a nasty almost feral grin, which seemed so out of place on his face. When was the last time Tommy had seen Wilbur smile? In fact, had Tommy <em> ever </em>seen Wilbur smile? Like, genuinely smile?</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t get the chance to ponder it though, because Wilbur tackled him to the ground, knocking his workbook from his lap and his pencil rolled under the couch. </p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur- Wilbur what the <em> fuck </em>-” Tommy screeched as Wilbur’s fingers attacked his sides. “Wilbur-”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s hands left his stomach, leaving him to catch his breath for a good two seconds before he found himself in a headlock, Wilbur’s knuckles digging into his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur, you fucking dick-” He cut himself off, his eye catching the scars littering Wilbur’s arm. They looked too <em> neat </em>for Tommy to just ignore. “Hey what’s on your arm-”</p><p> </p><p>The look on his foster brother’s face would always be etched into Tommy’s mind, the look of fear and pain in his eyes. Wilbur let go of Tommy like he was burned, pulling his arm back and slid his sleeve down, covering the scars that he did not want to show. </p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur, I’m sorry-” His words fell on deaf ears, Wilbur had scrambled up the stairs and his door was slammed shut.</p><p> </p><p>Oh. That was concerning. </p><p> </p><p>He cleaned up their things, placing Wilbur’s books on the coffee table and the dishes in the sink. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t tell Phil and Techno when they got home. Why would he? It wasn’t his business.</p><p> </p><p>If he heard Wilbur crying in his bed that night through their shared wall once again, he didn’t say a word. Wilbur wouldn’t want him to snitch, and he was not going to break the very thin trust between them.</p><p> </p><p>He would come to regret that, he realised. He should have told someone.</p><p> </p><p>4.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s music was getting very sad. The soft rock that played from his (outdated as fuck) CD player rang throughout the house, with soft guitar chords and lyrics that Wilbur seemed to relate to, if the fact that he listened to them all the damn time was anything to go by. </p><p> </p><p>He also played his guitar a lot more. These songs Tommy never recognized. They must have been the ones in Wilbur’s notebook, the one he never let anyone touch, let alone read. </p><p> </p><p>Today he was playing a song he seemed to have written. As usual, Phil was gone with Techno for one of his practices (it might have been violin this time, but who the hell knows) so it was just Tommy and Wilbur. As usual.</p><p> </p><p>And Tommy was pretty bored. So he decided to do something stupid.</p><p> </p><p>The song Wilbur was playing was sad, but it was pretty. Tommy wanted to know if Wilbur wrote it, and if he was maybe willing to teach Tommy. </p><p> </p><p>He knocked on Wilbur’s door and pushed it open a crack.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey Will?” He called gently.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want Tommy?”</p><p> </p><p>He just had to rip it off. “Will you teach me how to play?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur just sat there, and stared at him. Tommy started fidgeting with his shirt. This was a bad idea, there was no way that Wilbur was going to teach him-</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah sure, why not.” He patted the floor next to him. “I’ll teach you.”</p><p> </p><p>They spent the next few hours going over chords, and the bubbling question of “what was that song?” fell from Tommy’s mind.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t until they all went to bed and the floating guitar chords and Wilbur’s vocals reached his ears that he remembered what he wanted. There were those lines again. Maybe he’ll ask next time.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I think this time I’m dying.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>+1</p><p> </p><p>“Hey Phil?” Wilbur asked one morning, seeming more chipper than he had been in weeks. It was strange, but he seemed to be getting better and that’s all Tommy was hoping for. “Techno has a thing tonight, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Phil paused to look at him, the look on his face almost suspicious until it morphed into one of curiosity. “Yeah, he has a fencing practice tournament, why? Do you want to come with us tonight?”</p><p> </p><p>Techno’s head shot up from his textbook to Phil and Wilbur. Wilbur only hummed in response, popping a pop-tart into the toaster.</p><p> </p><p>When he noticed everyone staring at him, which maybe the fact that he was eating breakfast for one should have been a red sign, since he didn’t even eat when he was having a good day.</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, I think I’ll stay at home and babysit the gremlin.” Wilbur ruffled Tommy’s hair, chuckling at the squawk that the younger let out.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy could only stare as his foster brother flitted about the kitchen, munching on a poptart and making sure his things were in his bag. He didn’t bother questioning the soft yellow sweater Will was wearing, his comfort sweater, or the heavy bags under his eyes. He probably should have. But he didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy didn’t question when Wilbur was cleaning out his locker during lunch. “Spring cleaning.” He said, with an easy smile, to his friends when <em> they </em>questioned him. All his friends smiled back and accepted the answer. It didn’t sit right with Tommy.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy didn’t say anything when Wilbur handed his orca plushie, worn with love over the years, to Techno before he left for his match. He should have, but he kept quiet. </p><p> </p><p>“For good luck, yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a practice match, Will. I don’t really <em> need </em>luck.</p><p> </p><p>With an annoyed huff, Wilbur shoved the orca into Techno’s arms anyway. “Just bring him back to me in one piece, ok?”</p><p> </p><p>Techno took one long look at Wilbur, but he didn’t say anything either. Maybe he should have.</p><p> </p><p>Once Phil and Techno had left, Wilbur ordered their dinner (Chinese as usual. Tommy considered something different but Wilbur was hell bent on ordering the chinese, so chinese it was), and and decided he wanted to go take a nap.</p><p> </p><p>“I'm tired Toms. Be good, don’t burn down the house, ok?”</p><p> </p><p>That...sounded suspiciously like a goodbye. Tommy did not like that one bit.</p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur?”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy bit his lip. Maybe he was reading into it too much. It was fine.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing. Nevermind.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Wilbur smiled softly. “Ok. I’m gonna go take a nap now, so don't do anything I wouldn’t do. I love you, you little gremlin.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy rolled his eyes. “I love you too, asshole.”</p><p> </p><p>Maybe Tommy should have said something. Maybe he should have brought up his concerns, seen if Wilbur was really ok. </p><p> </p><p>But he didn't. When he heard the muffled thump coming from upstairs, and got no response, maybe he should have gone up to check on Wilbur. But he didn’t. His first thought was simply that Wilbur fell off his bed. Because despite all the red flags that seemed to be screaming in Tommy’s face, he was still in denial. Wilbur was probably fine. </p><p> </p><p>He hoped so.</p><p> </p><p>When the doorbell rang, Tommy paid for it with the crumpled twenty dollar bill that Phil had left on the counter. When he checked the bag, it didn’t look like Wilbur had ordered anything for himself, which was once again another red flag.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, Tommy felt the urge to go check on Wilbur.</p><p> </p><p>He hastily handed over the money, mumbling to the delivery man to “keep the change” before he slammed the door shut. With shaking hands, he set the bag on the counter.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t hungry anymore. All that filled him was nausea. He made his way upstairs, hoping that he was wrong. That Wilbur was just sleeping and all the weird alarms that Tommy was seeing were just coincidences.</p><p> </p><p>He opened the door, Wilbur’s name on the tip of his tongue but it died before he could get it out.</p><p> </p><p>There was a small orange bottle, missing it’s cap and it’s <em> contents </em>, laying on the floor, as though it rolled from someone’s hand.</p><p> </p><p>The next thing was the blood. There was a lot of blood. It was-</p><p> </p><p>Tommy slammed the door behind him, sliding down so he was sitting on the floor. Fuck.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Fuck. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He needed Phil. He needed Phil <em> now. </em></p><p> </p><p>With shaky hands, he dialed Phil as fast as he could. He needed an adult, he needed someone, Wilbur was hurt and Tommy was slowly spiraling he should have seen the signs why didn’t he say anything earlier-</p><p> </p><p><em> “Tommy?” </em> Phil sounded like he wasn’t paying attention to his phone. He muttered something that Tommy didn’t catch, most likely to Techno. <em> “What’s up mate?” </em></p><p> </p><p>Tommy let out a sob he didn’t realise was building up. “Phil. Phil. <em> Phil-”  </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Tommy? What’s wrong?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur- Wilbur he’s-” He cut himself off with a sob. Fuck. “Wilbur is bleeding and I think he took these <em> pills </em> and I didn’t even <em> know-”  </em></p><p> </p><p>Phil sucked in a breath, and asked Tommy to go back in. </p><p> </p><p>He could do this. </p><p> </p><p>He did what Phil asked, he checked Wilbur’s pulse, he tried to put pressure on his arms. He sat there, clutching Wilbur’s arm as Phil burst into the house. Huh. How long had he been sitting here?</p><p> </p><p>He vaguely remembers Phil gently pulling him away from Wilbur. He vaguely remembers being cleaned up, his shirt (covered in blood? When did that happen? Was it when he was trying to help Wilbur? It didn’t matter now, did it?) pulled over his head and a new one gently pressed into his hands. He vaguely remembered putting it on.</p><p> </p><p>He vaguely remembered pressing against Techno for a long time that night. He vaguely remembered the ambulance, the police. He didn’t remember the police trying to talk to him, and he’s glad he didn’t. Phil told him later that he wasn’t very responsive. </p><p> </p><p>He felt like he was floating. The house was silent, and it was awful. Tommy felt like there was cotton in his ears and in his throat. His limbs were heavy, like he had rocks chained to them and he was moving them through water. </p><p> </p><p>He only snapped to awareness the day of the funeral. </p><p> </p><p>He snapped to awareness, to the reality that Wilbur was <em> gone </em>, as he stared at the coffin. His suit was itchy and too big, Techno was squeezing a plush to tight in his hands so tight that his hands were turning white and he was practically shaking.</p><p> </p><p><em> Tommy </em>was shaking.</p><p> </p><p>He watched as they lowered the coffin into the ground. He watched as they buried the person who was just now becoming his brother.</p><p> </p><p>His brother <em> left </em>him. Wilbur left him, and he left Techno and he didn’t even leave Tommy anything. At least Techno got the stupid plushie.</p><p> </p><p>When they got home that night, Tommy started screaming. He screamed and screamed. He broke his lamp, he threw his phone at the floor, he pushed all of shit off of his desk.</p><p> </p><p>He was so fucking <em> angry. </em></p><p> </p><p>How dare Wilbur leave him? He was a foster kid too, he dealt with the panic too, he understood how it felt to not feel loved. He <em> understood.  </em></p><p> </p><p>He was just like Wilbur, alone and scared. Techno was the favourite, Techno had the most attention, Techno had the good grades. All Tommy had was Wilbur.</p><p> </p><p>And now Wilbur was gone. </p><p> </p><p>It was all Tommy's fault. Maybe if he had bothered to check Wilbur the first time, maybe if he had told someone about the <em>signs-</em></p><p> </p><p>His tie was getting suffocating around his neck. He just wanted it <em>off.</em></p><p> </p><p>He yanked his closet door open to throw the stupid tie around his neck into it, when he noticed something. </p><p> </p><p>How had he not noticed that yet?</p><p> </p><p>Sitting in the corner of his closet was Wilbur’s guitar. It sat on it’s stand, the stickers and the names and phrases scrawled in sharpie were just as familiar and welcoming as they had always been. Next to it was a small cardboard box, almost overflowing with all of Wilbur’s CDs. All of them. His notebooks, the nice leather bound ones he wrote his chords and songs in. The ones that he was never allowed to read. A sticky note sat at the top.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Be good for Dadza you gremlin. I love you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That night Tommy listened to Wilbur’s favourite CD, curled into his sheets. They smelled like Wilbur.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy really fucking missed him. Fucking bastard.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>im so proud that you got through that! remember, molly has a good ass fluff fic just waiting. please read it :)</p><p>todays doc title was just: molly challenge molly challenge lets get this [redacted] &lt;-- the word was redacted as to not attract the cult.</p><p>come join us at the <a href="https://discord.gg/sFRnkV9wRA">writers block</a>. i am currently considering challenging those i believe are better than me so i can rise up and take control of the server. :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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